


home is safe and home is fair

by ihopethatyouburn



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihopethatyouburn/pseuds/ihopethatyouburn
Summary: Though it would embarrass Carrie to hear it, Mira thinks of her as a surrogate daughter. Four snapshots of their relationship throughout the years, spanning from 2004 to 2016.
Relationships: Mira Berenson/Saul Berenson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	home is safe and home is fair

**Author's Note:**

> What is it they say? "Write the self-indulgent, mostly plotless mother/daughter fic you wish to see in the world"?

Washington, DC, 2004 

Carrie rings the doorbell to Saul and Mira’s house twenty minutes after the agreed-upon time of arrival, a fact Mira has come to expect. 

“Saul’s going to be a little late,” she announces into Mira’s shoulder as they hug. “He got caught up in a debrief, he says he’s sorry and he’ll be here no later than eight.” Carrie frowns apologetically, her whole face moving in service of her sympathy, then rebounding as she looks down at the black plastic bag around her wrist. 

“But I brought wine!” She raises the bottle as a peace offering before leaning down to unzip her boots. 

Mira rolls her eyes affectionately, deciding not to comment on her husband’s choice to relay the message through his protege and not with a phone call of his own. 

She leads Carrie into the kitchen. “Let’s pour some drinks,” she offers, grabbing two wine glasses from the china cabinet. 

“Please,” Carrie sighs with relief, her eyes closing in dramatic exhaustion. She grabs an ice cube tray from the freezer. “Do you want ice?” Carrie extends the tray towards Mira after dropping two cubes into the glass closest to her. 

“Sure,” Mira smiles as she digs through the silverware drawer for the corkscrew. She passes Carrie her glass of wine, the ice cubes hissing quietly against the liquid.

“I got out of work later than I expected, so I’m a little behind on the cooking,” Mira explains as she sets out salad ingredients on the counter. It’s been a long few months at the Red Cross overseeing health education, and she’s happy to have Carrie over as a distraction. “Can you help me with the salad?”

Carrie looks at the chopping knife with not-quite-mock apprehension. “I’ll do my best.”

“I learned my lesson from last time. No sharp peelers for you.”  _ Last time  _ meant a too-deep index finger slice, tiny pinprick bloodstains on her kitchen floor, and entirely too many jokes from Saul about Mira trying to skin Carrie alive.    
  
Carrie takes a moment to down half her glass of wine. “I’m at your service,” she announces afterwards. “Just tell me what you need.”

Thirty minutes later, Carrie and Mira sit on stools at the island, the roast chicken and potatoes Carrie requested crisping in the oven. She hasn’t made much headway on the salad, but is halfway through the bottle of wine. Mira’s glad that Saul prefers scotch. Carrie has one hand in the bag of baby carrots (no peeling required), claiming she’s cutting them up but mostly crunching loudly on them to punctuate Mira’s story about her annoying new coworker whose office is next door to hers and who spends the first hour of his day blasting the morning news on his radio. 

“This reminds me of a guy who lived in my freshman dorm in college,” she interjects. “He bought a professional DJ speaker and wouldn’t stop blasting music even after I yelled in his face about it.” She stops to cut a carrot in half, but shoves one of the halves in her mouth. “I’m pretty sure he ate only instant oatmeal and never went to the dining hall.”    


Mira smiles, the archetype familiar to her from her own college years. “Did your mom call you every week to ask you what you’d been eating for dinner? Mine couldn’t believe I’d figured out how to feed myself.”

Carrie’s smile drops just as Mira realizes her mistake. “Nope,” she says, her voice just tinged with bitterness. 

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I –” Mira starts, not knowing how she’ll finish. 

“It’s fine,” Carrie assures her with practiced breeziness, waving the hand holding the knife to clear the air. 

Mira’s never known exactly how to characterize her relationship with Carrie, especially with the open wound of her absent mother, a fact she’d found out about only through Saul, because Carrie generally seemed determined to forget her mother existed. After a few months of hearing about Carrie’s dad and sister and nieces, Mira figured that her mother wasn’t in the picture, but couldn’t hazard a guess about for how long or the circumstances behind her departure. 

Saul knew only the bare bones, and even then only because of the heavy background checks performed on the family of every applicant to the CIA: Ellen Mathison, resident of Missouri since 1997, previously Falls Church, Virginia. Her husband made her swear she wouldn’t tell Carrie where her mother was living, insisting it wasn’t their secret to tell. That was an easy promise to keep because Carrie barely mentioned her mom, even in passing. And anyway, if she really wanted to, any CIA officer with half a brain would be able to track down a woman who didn’t even change her last name in about half an hour.

During the past few years, Mira tried her best to support Carrie without being overbearing, trying not to seem like she was interfering too much in Carrie’s personal life or like she was the boss’s wife just checking up to find dirt. It took Carrie a while to warm up, with probably six months of hellos in passing when Carrie couldn’t get Saul on his cell and called the house landline. 

Saul eventually invited her for dinner one February evening when there was a snowstorm coming, with of course neither he nor Carrie having the foresight to check the weather. With Saul gone to his study on a work call, and a square meal and a few glasses of wine in her, Carrie loosened up, asking Mira questions about a younger Saul, his postings in Iran and Berlin and beyond. They spent an hour sitting on the floor of the living room with old photo albums scattered around them, with Saul walking in after his call to Carrie giggling over a stack of photos from the 70s, asking Mira to make her copies. She followed up on those copies, too, dropping by the house one night on her way home, while Saul was still at the office. 

From that night on, Mira treated Carrie gently, but with the same level of interest as she did her nieces, asking about Carrie’s friends (of which she seemed to have very few), or her love life (about which she gave sparing details, except for first-date horror stories). She sometimes distracted Mira with stories about her college boyfriends, rarely anyone current. But they would exchange stories about work, Carrie’s vague or coded where necessary, and Mira would share all of the CIA wives’ gossip she got from getting dragged to parties with Saul. Eventually Carrie started dropping by on Saturday afternoons, to flip through magazines and eat cut-up fruit in the backyard. Mira tried to play the fun aunt and succeeded for the most part, especially in tandem with Saul’s measured but lax approach, teaching her to ask forgiveness instead of permission. 

As Mira tenses up with regret at her reference to Carrie’s mother, Saul arrives home. She hopes Carrie doesn’t hear her sigh of relief. 

“I know, I know, I’m late,” he says in a not-apology as he kisses Mira hello. A tipsy Carrie extends her own cheek towards him, grinning, and he winds around the island to kiss her hello as well.

“Hi, kid."

“How was the debrief? Did Walden let you lead it?”   
  
Saul sighs heavily. “Everyone knows he’s the one running the show, not me. He basically steamrolled me.” 

Carrie and Saul continue recapping as Mira finishes the last few dinner preparations. They sit down to eat, reaching around and talking over each other, and Mira can’t help but smile softly. She and Saul have both been working constantly, and they don’t see a lot of each other during the week, Fridays included. She tries not to dwell on what that could mean long-term, and chooses instead to focus on the dinner she’s having with two people she loves.

+++++

Washington, DC, 2005

Mira hears the house phone ringing while she’s unlocking the front door and rushes inside to grab it, dropping her grocery bags on the kitchen floor. It’s Saul, calling from his car: 

“Hi,” he starts. “We just got word that Carrie’s needed in Baghdad a few days ahead of schedule, so she’s leaving early the day after tomorrow. Today was her last day in the office before she goes, so I’m going to bring her by so you two can say goodbye.” 

“Hi Mira!” Carrie’s voice cuts in from the passenger seat. 

“Okay,” Mira responds slowly, trying to catch up. Her voice is an octave higher from anxiety. “You’re on your way now?”

“Yes, be there in twenty minutes.” 

Mira hangs up the phone and leans against the refrigerator to stabilize her breath. She’d spent the past couple months trying to ready herself for Carrie’s upcoming tour in Iraq, but as her departure date drew closer, Mira found herself getting more worried. Saul kept trying to reassure her that Carrie would be traveling in armored vehicles driven by soldiers at all times, that she’d be living inside the American embassy grounds, and that no one was likely to target a low-level case officer no matter their country of origin. After all, they’d survived Iran in the late 70s together. But Mira kept imagining complicated scenarios in which Carrie, who never seemed to have a healthy fear of bodily harm, would shake off her security detail, go looking to establish off-book assets, and end up kidnapped and tortured. After all, Mira and Saul survived Iran, but a group of his own assets were slaughtered on the eve of their departure by a man just looking to assert his dominance.

The sound of her husband’s keys in the door jolts Mira out of her spiral. “In the kitchen!” she calls out.

Carrie walks into the kitchen first and pulls Mira into a hug. “I’m glad you’re home,” she says into MIra’s hair. “I didn’t want to leave without seeing you first.” Mira tightens her grip for an extra second before releasing Carrie, smoothing her blond hair behind her shoulders. 

“I’m glad you came.” 

Saul comes in then, rubs Mira’s back as he says hello. She squeezes his arm as he passes by on his way to the fridge. 

“So Saul drove you here?” she looks back at Carrie. 

“I had to return my car to the dealership yesterday, so I needed a chauffeur,” she jokes. “I thought I was going to be without a car all week, so it’s actually kind of nice that I have to leave early.” Carrie smiles with nervous excitement, rubbing her palms along the thighs of her dress pants like she can’t contain her energy. 

“Are you ready? Do you have everything you need?” Saul had cautioned her already about going overboard with the worries about Carrie’s safety, so Mira tries to stick to practical topics. 

“My subletter moved into my apartment this morning, so everything I own is either in a storage unit or my dad’s house. I’m almost packed, but I need to get a bunch of little things tomorrow. And a guy at the office told me to bring all of the snacks I think I’ll miss during the year.”

Mira smiles at the childish note. “And you’ve gotten all your security briefings and maps and gear?” 

“Yes,” Carrie humors her concern. “And I have a schedule listing about five more security briefings once I get there on Thursday.” 

“Good,” Mira nods with approval. “Now, are you hungry? Did you eat dinner? I can make you whatever –”

Saul waves her off, lets her know they ate at the office. He beckons the two women to the living room couch; he’s never understood their predilection for the high bar stools surrounding the kitchen island when the couch is always an available option. 

The next hour passes quickly with talk of what awaits Carrie in Iraq, and too soon she gets up from the couch with regret.    
  
“I should go, I have so much to get done tomorrow,” she says.

Mira walks her to the door. “I’m going to miss you,” she says as she holds onto the hug for a little too long.

“Me too,” Carrie agrees.

“I expect frequent updates,” Saul adds as he joins them, keys in hand to drive Carrie back to her father’s house. “I’ve heard the station needs new people, badly. Morale is low.”   
  
Carrie nods with determination. Mira doesn’t really want details about why morale is low, so she just waves them both out the door.

Carrie’s flight is set to take off at 11am on Wednesday, and Saul gets a phone call from her while they’re both getting ready for work, a rare morning where he’s not gone well before Mira. She’s fixing her makeup in the bathroom mirror and, assuming it’s a work call, doesn’t pay close attention to Saul’s conversation until she registers the concern in his voice drifting from their bedroom. 

After hanging up, Saul walks into the bathroom. Looking at their faces side by side in the mirror he says, “That was Carrie. Her dad can’t drop her at the airport anymore, she didn’t give a clear reason why, but I said I’d take her. I have to go now. Want to come?”

Mira turns to him and nods even before she checks her watch. She actually has a 9am meeting, but the operations manager can wait for an hour or so. 

“Let me just grab my bag.” 

In the car, Mira has to call her colleague to let her know to reschedule their meeting, but she keeps delaying hitting send, unsure how to describe her relationship with Carrie. Some of Mira’s coworkers have heard Carrie’s name over the years, but this woman is new, and Mira doesn’t know her well. She could just mention an emergency ride to the airport, but it makes Mira look unprofessional if she doesn’t specify who it’s for, to justify the in-person drop-off over a cab ride. “Family friend” is vague and unfitting, and “surrogate daughter,” though probably most accurate, feels presumptuous. “Surrogate niece” is probably best, but it feels too technical. Mira weighs these options as Saul tries to recall the route he drove last night. Eventually, she just leaves a message mentioning a family emergency and hopes to avoid further questions.

Saul gets a little lost on the way to Carrie’s dad’s house, grumbling about getting turned around in the daylight, but eventually they pull up to a blue Colonial-style house. Carrie is pacing the porch steps with an enormous stuffed duffel and green surplus backpack on the ground in front of her. 

“My dad promised he’d take me, he said we were going to go out to breakfast and everything, but he had something to do that couldn’t wait,” she wails at Saul as he jumps out of the car to open the trunk. Mira’s used to slightly weird stories about Carrie’s dad’s lack of impulse control, but she thought he would’ve taken the time to drive his daughter flying into a war zone to the airport. 

“So you didn’t eat breakfast?” Saul asks, concerned, as he heaves her duffel into the trunk. Mira almost laughs out loud at her husband’s tone, the forfeited prospect of a classic diner breakfast almost too much for him to bear. 

“I have a granola bar in my bag,” Carrie says as she gets in the backseat. “Hi, Mira. I didn’t know this would be a whole family affair,” she laughs weakly. 

Mira turns around to face her, squeezing her knee reassuringly. “I wanted to see you off, if I could. Plus, I think it’s going to require both of us to stop Saul from making sure you get a diner waffle before your flight leaves.” 

Saul opens his door just then, looks at his watch. “I heard you,” he warns. “We’re cutting it too close right now.” 

“But you thought about it,” Carrie insists.

He just shakes his head at her and puts on his seat belt. The car ride is quiet, with the radio playing the news on low. Mira can see Carrie in the side mirror, looking out the window pensively.

When they pull up to the departures drop-off point at National, Mira hops out to hand Carrie her backpack. She hugs Carrie hard, feeling more worked up than she had two nights ago. 

“We did this already,” she laughs, trying to disguise the lump in her throat. “I shouldn’t feel any different.” 

“Now it’s real,” Carrie whispers, a mixture of anxiety and awe in her voice. 

Mira pulls back to hold Carrie’s face in her hands. “Be safe, and go do good work.”

“You’re not allowed to cry,” Carrie warns. “And my dad has the opposition movement spoken for, I think he’s leaving messages for Saul as we stand here.” 

Saul dumps her rolling duffel bag on the sidewalk unceremoniously. “I can hear the wrath through the phone already,” he says. “But, it turns out, I don’t have the power to remove American intelligence from a nation during war time.” 

He checks his watch. “You’d better go. You don’t want to get stuck in the security line.” 

He and Carrie hug quickly. “Call me if anyone gives you trouble over there. The station chief owes me a few favors. I saved his life more than once when we were in Beirut.”   
  
Carrie rolls her eyes. “I can take care of myself, Saul.”

“I know you can,” he responds sincerely. “But just in case.” 

Mira steps in to give her another squeeze. “Call one of us when you land.”

“I will,” Carrie promises, and then she turns and walks confidently through the automatic glass doors. 

Saul and Mira stand there for a minute as horns honk at their idled car, Saul rubbing Mira’s back as she takes deep breaths. 

“She’s going to be fine,” Saul tries to reassure her. “She has great instincts, people trust her, and she spent the past four years training for this exact posting.” 

“We’re sending a 26-year-old child to a war zone,” Mira responds without any actual heat, exhausted. 

“Come on,” Saul leads her around to the passenger side of the car. “I’ll buy you breakfast on the way to work.” 

Late that night, after an interminable day at work, Mira wakes up from a fitful sleep to Saul scratching her back lightly. “Hey,” he whispers. “Carrie’s on the phone.”

She gropes in the dark until she locates Saul’s cell phone. “Hi, Carrie! Did you make it in one piece?” She winces at the rasp of her voice. 

“Oh, God, did I wake you up?” Carrie’s voice sounds far away, like she’s talking into a speakerphone muffled in a bedspread. “I have no idea what time it is at home.”   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Mira says firmly. “Did you get to the embassy?”   
  
“Yeah, I’m unpacking now, and then I have a meeting in an hour with the other case officers who just got here. I just wanted to hear your voice before I start work. So far it’s been –”

Carrie cuts off. “There’s someone at my door, I have to go. Tell Saul I’ll give him the full rundown later.”

“Thanks for calling,” Mira manages to get in before Carrie hangs up, so excited about everything new that awaits her.

Mira hands the phone back to Saul before laying her head in his lap. He plays lightly with her hair as her eyes fill with tears. 

“I don’t understand how anyone sends their children off to be soldiers in combat zones,” she whispers. 

“She’s there to help stabilize the region.”

“Great, since that’s going so well right now!”

Saul remains silent, but keeps moving his fingers through her hair. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m going back to sleep.” 

“Okay,” Saul whispers. “I’ll be right here.”

+++++

Washington, DC, 2013

A month after Nicholas Brody is executed and Andrew Lockhart assumes the duties of CIA director, Mira gets a job offer as a program director at UNICEF in New York City, effective in September. She and Saul agree that it’s a good time to move, and he looks for security work in the private sector. He’s been aimless the last few weeks, sleeping until mid-morning and sitting stonily on the back patio. Mira spends days convincing him that they should go to the Greek islands for the summer, where they could rent a house and reset their lives. 

Saul has to be persuaded, but it’s not that he’s reluctant to leave DC; it’s that he doesn’t want to do anything other than bemoan the unceremonious end to his CIA career. Once they find a house to rent, though, he becomes more energized, planning with excitement and researching local bakeries.

As they prepare to leave, Mira urges Saul to talk with Carrie, who if nothing else would be a connection to his old life. He grumbles, but they meet one afternoon for coffee. Saul seems solemn when he returns home, but Mira doesn’t press him, assuming he’s still mourning the CIA. But later that night, he reveals what he’s been processing for the last eight hours.

“Carrie’s pregnant,” Saul says as they pull the bedspread over themselves to go to sleep.

Mira almost sits back up. “Excuse me?”

Saul just turns on his side to face her, knowing she didn’t actually mishear him. 

“I –” Mira takes a deep breath. “Our Carrie?”   
  
Her husband nods solemnly, his jaw set. “Do we know another Carrie?”

“No, I just – I didn’t know she was even seeing anybody. Or that she wanted to have kids.”  _ How long has it been since we’ve spent a real evening together?  _ Mira asks herself. She thinks the last time she saw Carrie was right when she got out of the mental facility, when she was in no shape for the sort of life-update small talk Mira might have tried to engage in. She must have been pregnant then, Mira figures, tries to count back on her fingers. It was only about eight weeks ago. 

“It wasn’t planned,” Saul says dismissively, a familiar sanctimonious tone edging into his voice, a tone he knows Mira hates. She opens her mouth to tell him to shut the fuck up but the next sentence out of his mouth stops her short: “She said the father is Nicholas Brody.”

Mira clutches Saul’s wrist involuntarily. She’d missed out on a lot while she was in Mumbai, but since she’s been home she’s heard rumors here and there from other CIA wives about Carrie and the former war hero, some more outlandish than others, that they had plans to run away together, that she helped him plot the attack on 12/12. She hadn’t taken any of them very seriously, but now it appears that they were at a little bit right. 

“Carrie confirmed that Brody is the father?” 

“Well, I guessed and she had no choice but to admit that I was right,” Saul says gruffly. “She still looked like she was hiding something even after she told me.” 

Mira lays back on the pillow, trying to understand the news. The pit at the bottom of her stomach is worried about Carrie, a woman who at twenty-five only remembered to eat fruit that Mira cut up for her, who for the decade Mira’s known her has never taken more than a few days’ vacation, who is patient with virtually no one. She feels disappointed that Carrie wasn’t the one to tell her, knows that it’s unfair to feel protective of this grown woman, and knows that she hasn’t been around much the past few years, but there was a time where she thought of Carrie as her own daughter.

“I hope you congratulated her,” Mira says.

“Oh God, no,” Saul almost chuckles. “She could barely say his name. I wanted to tell her she was throwing her career away.”

“Saul,” she warns. “Please tell me you didn’t –”

“Don’t worry,” he cuts her off. “I was nice.”

“Were you actually nice? Or did you just refrain from screaming at her?” 

Saul sighs heavily. Mira can only see shadows of him in the darkness but she can tell he’s pinching the skin between his eyebrows. 

“I did my best, considering she’s the best agent I’ve seen in decades. I told her she always has a job at the agency, and that she should stay healthy.”

“Saul, she’s going to think you don’t want her to have this baby.”

“Of course I don’t,” her husband says in the most infuriatingly blank tone, like of course he doesn’t want nuclear war with Iran and of course he’s a CIA officer and of course he can’t accept anything less than undying devotion from his most lovingly groomed protege. 

“What if this baby makes her happy?” Mira feels the contrarian rising in her, despite the fact that she’s as disbelieving as Saul is that this will turn out well. She tries not to raise her voice, because when Saul gets angry he’s quiet and even-keeled, and every time she yells she feels like she’s showing signs of weakness. “Did she say she was happy? She’s going to think you only value her as an employee and not a human being.” 

“Can we drop this for now? Please,” Saul’s voice breaks. “I can’t keep thinking about losing her.”

“Fine,” Mira nods as she rolls away from him onto her side. 

She wants to yell at him that Carrie having a baby doesn’t mean he’ll lose her, that they’ve been through so much together that the only way he’d lose her is if he pushed her away himself, but it’s not worth the fight right now. She’s also seen how obsessive Carrie gets about Nicolas Brody, saw her continuously shrug off Mira’s phone calls last winter after the CIA bombing, seemingly only to sit in her pajamas watching the news speculating about his alleged terrorism on a loop, as Mira found out only when she went over to Carrie’s apartment with dinner. At the time, she’d chalked it up to a manic episode, which of course it was, but one precipitated by profound emotional whiplash.

She wasn’t nearly this destroyed by the other married man she was with a few years ago, the married man she’d told Mira about only after too many glasses of sickly sweet Riesling and then made her swear she wouldn’t breathe a word about it to Saul. Knowing Carrie would never listen to an admonishment, knowing that she would never settle for a pharmaceutical rep or bankruptcy lawyer she met at the gym, Mira just smiled conspiratorially, shook her head, and didn’t ask too many questions. She of all people knew that sometimes a marriage was that in word only.

After laying silently in a minute or two of stubborn silence, Saul tentatively runs his hand along her side, his way of apologizing. If she wanted to, Mira could turn over again and let him scratch her back, but she can’t let him decide all the terms of the argument. She whispers “Goodnight” softly as her own peace offering. Not going to sleep angry is extra important when she’s never sure if her husband will be in bed with her in the morning. 

“I’m going to need the full story on her and Brody some other time,” Mira mumbles sleepily.    
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever have that in me,” Saul grumbles. 

Mira calls Carrie the next morning. She doesn’t answer, but Mira leaves a long-winded voicemail of congratulations, trying to disguise the false excitement in her voice, making sure the undercurrent of worry doesn’t creep in, and telling Carrie to call if she needs anything. She’ll be supportive enough for her and Saul both even if she has to throw in every sugary sweet cliche she heard when her cousins had babies, when she went on walks with her pregnant friends who would get called “Mama” by strangers. 

Mira isn’t really sure who she’s trying to convince, since she knows Carrie will be able to sense her ambivalence. She’s always been ultra-sensitive and ultra-perceptive with Saul and Mira both, and she’s not the kind of woman who needs bullshit platitudes about mothers being the strongest people in the world. She feels better, though, when she hangs up the phone. She knows it’s not much – maybe a step above a text message, but Carrie’s a shitty texter and would never respond to a long and halfway heartfelt message with anything other than a “Thanks” – but at least she tried. 

_ “Hi Carrie honey, it’s Mira. Saul told me you’re going to have a baby and I just wanted to let you know that I  _ – _ that we  _ – _ just couldn’t be happier for you. I know you’re going through a hard time right now but, um, I think you’ll be a great mom and you have so much to teach. Let me know if you need anything at all. Call me back. I’m going to check on you in a few days.” _

+++++

New York City, 2016

Now settled in New York City, working to increase primary education access for UNICEF, Mira checks in periodically with the Düring Foundation. She gets an email alert that Otto Düring is sponsoring a new Legal Aid foundation aimed at young profiled Muslims, led by his head of security Carrie Mathison. After the news about an attack on Düring at a Lebanese refugee camp a few months ago, Mira is glad to see Carrie out of war zones, especially back stateside, especially in her city.

She and Carrie haven’t spoken since her first few months in Berlin, and their relationship has been strained for the past couple years since Mira implied that Carrie might sacrifice Saul during the prisoner exchange in Pakistan. She’d been horrified during some of their conversations while Carrie was still in Kabul, hearing the cold, detached professionalism she associated with David Estes and even Walden, the politicians. Mira doesn’t regret that phone call, if only because it allowed her a sense of control while her husband was held hostage by a Taliban leader, but she is sorry that Carrie thinks their trust is eroding. 

Throughout the summer months, Mira thinks about reaching out, but she keeps living her life in Manhattan, traveling only between the Upper West Side and her office in the Financial District, and Carrie sticks to her office in Williamsburg and her house in Bed Stuy. One week in late October, Mira has a meeting with a publicity agency in Williamsburg. The recent wave of arrests that Carrie and her team have been able to expunge makes the local news, and Mira can’t get her mind off of Carrie and her daughter.

After a few days of worrying that Carrie won’t answer or that she changed her phone number, as both current and former CIA employees are wont to do, Mira picks up the phone and calls her. She purposely calls the day before she’ll be in Carrie’s area, close enough that Carrie won’t cancel on her and far enough in advance that she’s not imposing. 

The phone rings long enough that Mira is convinced she’ll get a voicemail, but at the last second she hears a harried “Hello?” with voices in the background. There’s no warmth of recognition, so Mira hopes that Carrie just doesn’t have her number in her contacts.

“Hi, Carrie, it’s Mira,” she says brightly, trying to mask her uncertainty. 

Mira hears a door slam and the din in the background fades. “Mira! How are you?” Carrie asks. “What’s new? Are you still in the city?” 

Mira relaxes a little. When they last spoke, Carrie was pretty clear that she wanted to make her own life in Berlin without reminders of home, but that was more than two years ago. She sounds much more open now, not hurrying Mira off the phone with a fake meeting.

“Yes, I’m still at UNICEF!” she says with relief. “I actually called because I’ve been seeing your name on the news, and I realized I have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow in Williamsburg that’s close to your headquarters. Maybe I could drop by afterwards and we could catch up?” 

“I would love that,” Carrie says sincerely. “Tomorrow though –” Mira can hear a mouse clicking as Carrie presumably looks at her schedule for the next day. “Tomorrow afternoon I have to be home with my daughter by 3:30, so do you want to come over to the house? I live in Bed Stuy, it still shouldn’t be too far from your meeting. I don’t think you’ve met Franny yet.”

Carrie as a mother is an identity that Mira still can’t quite picture, thinking perhaps unfairly back to the 25-year-old in Mira’s living room calling to reschedule her annual gynecologist appointment for the third time because she could never pull herself away from work for the hour the visit would require. She’s heard Carrie talk proudly about her two nieces, and aunt is a more natural role for her, not resolving tantrums in public or hauling a stroller up and down the subway stairs. But from what Saul’s told her about Carrie in the field, she’s patient, attentive, and generous, so there’s no reason for Mira to doubt Carrie so completely.

“Sure! I would love to meet Franny. Can I drop by around 5?” They agree on a time, and Carrie promises to send a text with her address.

Mira shows up to Carrie’s brownstone the next day after getting a little turned around on the walk from the G train. She hates the Manhattan residents who brag about never setting foot in Brooklyn, but she rarely has reason to be here either. She’d spent the morning worried that Carrie would cancel, but she gets a text around noon with an address and a “See you soon!” 

Walking up the front steps, Mira smiles at the preschool drawing taped up in the first-floor window next to an Elizabeth Keane for President sign. Carrie sees her before she can ring the bell, padding out from the kitchen to open the door for her. 

“Mira! It’s been so long,” Carrie greets her with a warm hug, no trace of bitterness. When she pulls away, Mira can see the bags under her eyes, but her blonde hair hangs straight and perfect as always. 

“It’s good to see you,” Mira replies as she takes off her jacket. “Your home is beautiful.” She tries to keep the envy out of her voice as she catches a glimpse of a tiny backyard out the far kitchen window.

“It’s all thanks to Otto Düring,” Carrie inclines her head ever so slightly in a joking show of devotion. “I needed a place to live, he wanted an investment property in Brooklyn, and he offered the house to me as part of my contract.” 

“Lucky you,” Mira chuckles as she peeks into the living room.  “Can I get you anything? Do you want a drink? Franny’s just finishing up her dinner in here.” Carrie leads the way into the kitchen. Franny is sitting at the table with a child’s separated plate in front of her, finishing some carrot sticks. She looks up at Mira with big curious eyes. 

“Honey, can you say hi to Mommy’s friend Mira?” Carrie asks. 

“Hi, nice to meet you, Franny!” Mira can’t help but chirp a little too sweetly, overcome with emotion at the curly redhead before her, struck by how much she resembles Nick Brody. “I’ve known your mom for a long time.” 

“Like since I was a baby?” Franny asks, evidently not shy around strangers. 

“Like since before you were even born,” Carrie says, raising her eyebrows theatrically. 

“Wow,” Franny whispers in amazement as she finishes the juice in her sippy cup and holds it out to Carrie. “All done,” she announces. “Can I show Mira my room?” 

Mira smiles as Carrie looks at her for approval. “Yes! I’ll follow you.” 

Carrie mouths a “thank you” at her as Franny bounds out of the kitchen. On the way, Franny grabs a stuffed rabbit sitting on the coffee table in the living room. “This is Hop. You can hold him,” she offers. 

“That’s a high honor,” Carrie calls from the kitchen. “Hop is her favorite.”

Franny starts up the stairs, reaching for Mira’s hand instead of the banister for balance. As they walk, Mira smiles at the family photos ascending the stairs: a baby Franny with Carrie’s sister and father, Franny holding a balloon dog on Carrie’s lap, with Carrie wearing a balloon hat, and Carrie holding an awestruck Franny in front of the giraffes at a zoo. 

They reach the top of the stairs, and Franny pulls Mira to the right, into a small but bright bedroom with stuffed animals lined up carefully on top of the bedspread. “These are all my animals,” Franny explains, grabbing Hop from Mira’s hand to lay him in a place of honor on her pillow. 

“Hop is your favorite, right? Who are his best friends?”   
  
As Franny chatters away about the social hierarchy of her stuffed animals, Mira looks around the room, taking in a star lamp and a short dresser with hair ties and barrettes strewn across the top. There’s some artwork taped to the wall a little haphazardly, the work of either a very careful three-year-old or her not-so-careful mom with other important things to do. Franny’s love of rabbits appears to be universal, with a few picture books and a mostly destroyed forest animal coloring book piled on top of her bookshelf. 

Carrie pokes her head into the room, waiting for a break in the introduction. “Franny, Mommy wants to talk to her friend for awhile, so why don’t you go into the playroom?” 

Franny stops her monologue reluctantly. “Can I watch a show?”   


“Anything you want.” Carrie scoops her daughter off the bed and kisses her cheek loudly. “Just be good, okay?” She walks across the hall and deposits Franny in a cushy red kid’s chair in front of a small TV, blocks strewn on the floor in front of her. Franny nods seriously as Carrie scrolls through a list of shows, eventually settling on one with a cartoon tiger.

“Sorry,” Carrie apologizes as she meets Mira on the landing. “Thanks for humoring her. She gets really excited when I have friends over, it’s like she wants to be part of it.” 

“I’m glad I got to meet her,” Mira responds. “Really, Carrie, I – I’ve had you and Franny on my mind for awhile, ever since I heard you were in the city. And you’re so good with her, it just makes me happy to see.”

Carrie’s chin quivers slightly at that, a small smile creeping up on her lips. “That really means a lot.” Clearing her throat and blinking a few times rapidly, she changes her tone: “Why don’t we go sit downstairs?”

Mira squeezes her hand quickly and follows her down to the kitchen. 

“So, we got sidetracked, but do you want anything? I don’t have any alcohol, but I have tea, seltzer, aaand,” Carrie opens the fridge with a flourish, “some apple juice.” 

“Tea would be lovely.” 

Carrie switches on the electric kettle and leans against the kitchen counter as they wait. “So, catch me up on how you’ve been doing. How’s Manhattan? How’s work going? How’s –” she pauses for half a second to decide if she wants to finish, “How’s the single life?” 

Mira lets out a short chuckle. She’s not too eager to talk about Saul but she’s kind of glad Carrie brought him up, so she doesn’t have to keep wondering if Carrie blames her for leaving him. She doesn’t think that he and Carrie are on the best of terms either, but she’s been surprised by the loyalty they’ve shown each other in the past; for better or worse, they’ll always find a way back to each other. 

“Well, I just got promoted a few months ago, so work has been going well. I live up on 103rd and it actually didn’t take me very long to realize that living alone isn’t very different from living with Saul, who was never home anyway,” she says, keeping her tone light. “I go for walks in Riverside Park, I belong to the MoMA, I go to the theater by myself, and I’m not constantly disappointed by a surly roommate.”

Carrie smiles as she reaches into the cabinet for tea bags and mugs. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Have you, um, have you heard from Saul recently?” 

“He called me a month or so ago, but I didn’t call him back. He’s still pretty pissed at me for turning down an offer he made me before I left Berlin. He invited me back to the CIA, to work on any mission I wanted.” 

Mira raises her eyebrows in surprise. 

“And you turned that down?” The Carrie she knew before Brody, before Franny, before Islamabad, was working towards that exact offer. 

“I know, it sounds kind of crazy,” Carrie acknowledges, pouring boiling water over two tea bags.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Mira says, hands up in defense. “You know I think the CIA poisons people’s lives from the inside out.”

“I just –” Carrie exhales hard, searching for the right words like she’s trying to justify it to herself as well. “That wasn’t the life I wanted for me or for Franny. Saul was furious when I said no.”

“I guess I’m surprised he hasn’t forgiven you yet. He never could stay mad at you for long.” 

“Yeah, well,” Carrie rolls her eyes in defeat. “He’s gotten more stubborn in his old age.”

“You don’t say,” Mira responds drily, eyebrows raised. Her voice softens as she adds, “I know he still loves you, though. He still trusts you.” 

“I could say the same for you.”

“For me, that wasn’t enough. His work will always come first, and that means you come first too.” 

“I’m glad one of us thinks so,” Carrie responds with an air of finality. She turns to the fridge, intent on changing the subject. “Do you want milk with your tea? Sugar?” 

Mira accepts both, and they settle onto the living room couch with steaming mugs on their laps.

“So! Tell me about what’s new with you,” Mira says. “I’m sure it’s infinitely more exciting than my life.”

“I really don’t think so,” Carrie laughs. “But that’s a good thing for now. Franny likes her new preschool, and I’m friendly with some of the other moms. They have a whole neighborhood text chat going, which is totally overwhelming. But it’s nice to be included, I guess.”

Mira notes the mention of Franny’s life first.

“And then as you know, I’m working with a non-profit that Otto Düring helped set up, working with city activists and public defenders to protect Muslim youth. Some days it’s a walk in the park compared to being a case officer,” she shrugs, “but I think it’s good for me, living a less... heightened life. And I stopped drinking.”

Mira nods, remembering the past Carrie who, from a decade previously up until a few years ago, would arrive at the house either expecting a drink or with wine already in hand. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” She’s careful to keep her voice free of judgement. “So you seem… you seem stable.” Mira isn’t sure if she should reference Carrie’s mental health outright, never wants to act patronizing or superior, but she worries. She’s never quite forgiven herself for not doing more after Carrie returned from her first tour in Baghdad, working through what Mira assumed at the time was shock and a renewed sense of duty, pulling multiple all-nighters each week and nearly going to hospital one night after fainting in Saul’s office. Carrie chalked it up to an iron deficiency, and nodded robotically at both Saul and Mira telling her to slow down, but obeyed none of their warnings. Mira hadn’t wanted to pry too much, especially because Saul was always sensitive when she tried too hard to understand things that had gone wrong in the field – she was always on the outside of the CIA and its delicate labyrinthine missions.

Carrie turns towards Mira and leans against the arm of the couch, tucking her feet up on the cushion between them. “I think I am stable,” she agrees. “I really like the city, and I’m doing good work. Helping people who would have nowhere else to turn.” 

They continue chatting as the street lamps switch on outside, with the light pitter-patter of toddler feet running around upstairs, and occasionally the crash of blocks or Franny singing to herself. It feels a lot like old times, the years before Carrie went away to Baghdad, when she was still young enough to want to hang out with Mira, looking maybe for a mother figure but probably also just structure. 

Carrie’s complaining about the IT guy at her new office, who she claims hates her for calling him too often and not listening to his advice, which Mira doesn’t doubt. 

“Mama?” Franny makes her way down the stairs and shuffles into the living room, rubbing her eyes. 

“Hi, my love,” Carrie smiles. “Do you want to come sit with us?” She pulls Franny up onto her lap, resting her chin on her daughter’s head. “It’s almost your bedtime.”

Mira looks at her watch as Franny tries to reach Carrie’s tea sitting on the end table next to the couch. “That’s mine,” she tells Franny, grabbing it out of harm’s way. “You’re not going to like it.” 

Franny keeps reaching for the mug anyway, and Carrie sighs, looking down at the last couple sips that are left. “Fine, you want a taste?” She positions her hands over her daughter’s, steadying the mug as Franny brings it toward her mouth, curious. Both Carrie and Mira chuckle at the horrified face Franny makes when she swallows. 

“Do you want more?” Carrie jokes, hiding her smile in Franny’s hair. 

“No!” she shakes her head quickly. 

“Okay,” Carrie soothes, rubbing her daughter’s leg lightly. “I think it’s time to go to sleep.” 

Franny makes no protest, just settles into her mother’s arms. Turning to Mira, Carrie says, “Sorry to end this so abruptly. It got later than I thought.” 

“Not a problem! I have an early morning tomorrow anyway.” Mira comes up with the half-lie gracefully, not wanting to intrude any further. “But let’s do this again soon.”

“Definitely,” Carrie agrees. “Franny, can you say goodbye to Mira?” She stands up and places her daughter on the ground. 

“Bye,” Franny whispers, exhausted. 

“Maybe next time I can play with you more,” Mira offers. Franny nods in happy agreement.

“Can you go put your pjs on? I’ll be up in five minutes.” Carrie puts five fingers up to demonstrate. She holds Franny’s hand and sends her up the stairs, pausing to grab Mira’s jacket from the coat rack. 

Mira hugs Carrie tightly, with a promise to keep in touch. 

“I’m in Manhattan a couple days a week for Keane campaign advisory meetings. We’ll have to get dinner some night soon,” Carrie insists. 

“Just let me know when,” Mira says. “It was so nice to see you, and Franny.”

“Get home safe,” Carrie waves her out the door.

Mira walks down the steps and out the gate, feeling buoyant. There’s a light mist in the air, hanging around the streetlamps, and it’s just humid enough that she doesn’t need to button her trench coat. Taking a deep breath in, she decides to walk the long way to the A train so she can spend more time outside, skipping the stop closest to Carrie. It’s the tail end of happy hour at the bars on Fulton, almost 8pm, and Mira revels in the laughter and noise, music pouring out of speakers onto half-empty patios, with only the most valiant patrons braving the wet to enjoy one of the last warm days of the year. 

She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but Mira was nervous to meet Franny, unsure of the home life she’d find, especially after Carrie fled to Kabul and then Islamabad during her daughter’s first few months of life. She knows Carrie’s capable of deep love, but she’s always had problems with consistency, and Mira is so pleased that Berlin seems to have settled her, terrorist attacks notwithstanding. Mira had always been doubtful about all the platitudes thrown around about a child being the biggest and most important thing in a mother’s life, especially for a career CIA officer like Carrie, but she learned tonight that Carrie is trying her hardest to fit the mold of devoted mother, complete with a carousel of pictures of a grinning mother and daughter. And if Carrie’s trying her hardest, and Franny’s fed and clothed and happy, isn’t that enough? 

Isn’t that what Mira always tried to do for Carrie? 

Mira swipes into the subway and settles into a seat on the half-empty Manhattan-bound train, smiling softly at the city that welcomed three generations of lost girls, freeing them from both the seductive danger and uncompromising suffocation of the CIA. 

**Author's Note:**

> In cast anyone is a weirdo about NYC geography like I am: we know from 6.02 that Carrie lives right around the intersection of Throop Avenue and Halsey Street in the Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn, off the Kingston/Throop A/C and Bedford/Nostrand G. I've decided that Mira lives on the Upper West Side, on West 103rd between Broadway and West End Avenues.
> 
> The title is a line from To Build A Home by Jason Robert Brown.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
